by Leslie Kelly
Danny had to smile. Business done with—the official part of his visit was over. Now it was time to move on with the personal part.
He only hoped he could get her to listen to him about what truly mattered, what had really driven him up here this evening.
Them.
THOUGH SHE’D MANAGED to keep up a good front—at least, so she hoped—Marissa wasn’t nearly as calm about Danny being here, in her apartment, as she let on. Not only because he had stunned her by showing up. Not just because he was so big and masculine he seemed to suck up all the air in the room. Not even because he looked so damned good to her that she wanted to drink him up like a parched woman offered a glass of cold, refreshing spring water.
No. There was also the little matter of her alter ego.
Mad-Mari. Or, recently, Very Mad Mad-Mari.
She’d been sitting out on the balcony writing a blog entry when he’d first knocked. Once she’d realized she would have to answer, or risk her nosy neighbor inviting him in for tea—or macing him!—she’d logged off the site. She’d also quickly closed the door to the hall closet. Inside it were stacks of cartons containing copies of her two books.
The last thing she wanted to do was explain about her alter ego, Mad-Mari.
The irony didn’t escape her, nor did the uncomfortable twinge that she was being a little hypocritical. She’d been angry at him for keeping his identity as a navy officer a secret, but now she was keeping a secret of her own. The difference was, he’d known she didn’t want anything to do with anybody in the military even before they’d slept together, whether he realized that included him or not. But Danny had never come out and said he didn’t want to get involved with anybody who wrote, or a blogger.
Quibbling maybe. But still, blogging and writing weren’t what she did anymore. They were an amusing pastime. She’d been nothing but honest with him about who she really was and what she really wanted to do.
Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway—you’re not involved with him.
Right. And they wouldn’t be involved in anything but a professional capacity from here on out.
Honestly, though, it wasn’t her secret writing life she didn’t want him to know about—she wasn’t ashamed of it and suspected he’d be amused by her books, as most men with a smidgeon of self-confidence were. Nor did she mind him knowing that she was a semi-famous internet personality.
But the content of her blog had been pretty revealing over the past couple of weeks.
Marissa wasn’t ashamed of what she’d written, and she hadn’t said a thing that wasn’t true—or that she hadn’t believed was true at the time. But she’d been pretty open about her heartache. The last thing she wanted was the guy who’d caused it to read all about those long, painful days when she’d waited to hear from him. And how she’d reacted when she hadn’t. She’d had a regular bitch session about him with the cyber world, rather than with a few girlfriends over a pitcher of margaritas. Of course, she’d never named him, but he’d know full well who she’d been talking about.
Mr. Perfect. Huh.
She could go back and ditch those entries, she supposed. But she had never played the cyber game that way, and didn’t like people who did. It was cowardly—if you couldn’t stand behind what you wrote online, you shouldn’t write it. Just like you shouldn’t say something behind somebody’s back that you wouldn’t say to their face.
Though, being perfectly honest, she doubted she’d be calling Lieutenant Commander Danny Wilkes a scum-sucking user to his face, the way she had on her blog. Well, not in so many words.
Still, she wouldn’t delete her pain-filled words, that was a cop-out. She was not, however, going to make it easy for him to stumble across them.
“So,” Danny said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “Maybe you should tell me the topic of tomorrow’s lecture.”
“Safe sex,” she replied absently.
He coughed into his fist. “Uh…seriously?”
Seeing his wide-eyed expression, she wished she’d come up with a different answer. Talking about sex with Danny wasn’t good for her peace of mind. Thinking about having sex with Danny definitely wasn’t good for her peace of mind.
She should know—she’d thought about it a lot over the past couple of weeks. That heated night had imprinted itself on every cell of her brain, the memories of it reaching out to taunt her in quiet moments. Or not-so-quiet ones. Hell, when she’d been grocery shopping last week, she’d had a serious flashback right in the middle of the produce section because she’d squeezed a pair of kiwis to see if they were ripe.
She’d avoided the cucumbers.
And the zucchini.
“Mari, you’re seriously going to be talking to a bunch of young sailors about sex?”
Cursing herself for deciding to be bold enough to go for the tough stuff in her second lecture, she replied, “Yes.” Mari channeled her inner professor and ignored the lustful free spirit to add, “I intend to go over some of those statistics on body-parts-falling-off, staying safe, that type of thing. Pregnancy rates, how male-female customs in other countries can trip them up. Even immigration issues that could arise if they impregnate a woman while overseas.”
“Sounds interesting,” he said. “I’m glad I’m going to be there.”
She wasn’t. “I’m sure it’ll be a bore for somebody with your…experience.”
He whistled at the insult.
That had been bitchy, and she knew it. Stammering, she explained, “I mean, you’ve been all over the world, I have no doubt.”
Nodding, though he didn’t look like he quite believed her, he explained, “That’s true. But I meant, I’m glad I’ll be there because the kids can be rowdy and you’re opening a pretty dangerous door.”
“I am perfectly qualified to talk about sex,” she said, keeping her tone cool and professional. She only hoped she could maintain it. The longer he stayed here, the harder it was becoming. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I didn’t say you did. But I’m glad I’ll be there, just in case.” Leaning back in the chair and lacing his fingers behind his head, he asked, “So, are you gonna caution them against hooking up with strangers they only met a couple of hours ago?” His expression remained pleasant, his voice holding only a hint of humor.
“Oh, absolutely,” she replied quickly. “I intend to preach to them about how stupid it is to do something like that. And how, if you do make that mistake once, you’d better make damn sure you don’t do it again. You know, learn from your mistakes and all that.”
“Mistake, huh?”
“Yes,” she replied, her chin going up. “It was a mistake. A lapse in judgment.”
He rose to his feet, his smile faltering, as if she’d hurt him a little, if that were possible. “Don’t say that yet, okay? You didn’t misjudge me. I am the guy you met that day, Mari.”
Sure. Except for the uniform. And the part where he’d acted as though what had happened had meaning—his tenderness and promises had implied it, even if he hadn’t voiced it out loud.
Then there was that promise to call.
Assuming he was ready to leave now that he’d gotten her agreement on the joint lectures, Mari rose, too. She was determined to quietly escort him to the door and not throw her arms around his neck and ask him to do that amazing little move with his hips that he’d used on her that night on his boat.
Good God.
Instead of heading for the door, though, Danny eyed her for a minute, then reached into his back pocket. Drawing out a sheath of papers, he handed it to her. “Here.”
Marissa stared at the pages like he was offering her an unwanted subpoena. “What’s that?”
“Just look at them, please,” he urged quietly.
Taking one deep, slow breath, then letting it out, Marissa reached for the pages, being careful not to allow her fingers to brush against his. It was bad enough that she was sharing his airspace, she did not need any skin-on-skin contact to mess
with her head. Having Danny here—seeing him sitting on that chair, framed against that window, filling the small apartment with that scent—was already doing a number on her.
She glanced at the first page, seeing a photocopy of a receipt from an electronics shop. “So?” Stepping closer—too close, don’t get so close—he tapped the neatly manicured tip of his finger on the description of the purchase.
“Congratulations. 3G?”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he pointed to the upper part of the receipt—the date. “I bought it two weeks ago.”
“Looks like you got a good deal,” she said, pushing the paper toward him.
He wouldn’t take it. “Want to know why I bought a new cell phone?”
“’Cause somebody asked, ‘Can you hear me now?’ and you couldn’t?”
He grinned. “No, because I dropped mine in the bay.”
She gaped, then muttered, “Gee, I hope nobody ever gives you a bomb to hold.”
“Want to know when I dropped it?”
“Not particularly, but I suppose you’re going to tell me, anyway.”
“About an hour after you left that morning,” he explained, stepping even closer, so his pants brushed her calves, bared beneath the capri pants she wore. The contact electrified her…his words even more so.
Because she suddenly remembered what else had happened that morning. How he’d given her his phone to input her number.
He hadn’t written it down, hadn’t committed it to memory. The only way he would have been able to find it was in that phone.
“So you’re telling me you lost my number?” she asked, trying to sound flippant, as if she didn’t really care. But she did. Oh, did she ever.
“Yes. That’s what I’m telling you,” he said, his tone steady, unwavering, as if he was trying to convince her with more than mere words. The warmth of his expression aided his endeavor and she found herself softening.
But she quickly steeled herself against it. “Yeah, and nobody knows how to use a phone book anymore.”
“I didn’t know your last name,” he countered.
Hell. He was right. She hadn’t learned his that day, either. How insane was that? She’d shared the most wonderfully erotic night with the man and knew exactly the sweet, deep groan he made when he came, but she hadn’t found out his last name.
Or his rank. Oy.
“Besides which,” he added, “once I did find out your last name—because of a flyer about your speeches on campus—I went searching and found out you’re unlisted.”
“Oh,” she whispered, remembering that. She’d had a few obnoxious letters after her first book came out, and had tried to put up a wall between herself and any overzealous—or overly angry—readers.
“I was tempted to drive around Baltimore to see if I spotted your car parked on the street. I remembered you said you lived near the harbor.”
“I park in a private lot,” she whispered, a warm, funny feeling rising inside her.
He’d tried to find her? Really? She hadn’t been used and then ditched?
“Now, on to Exhibit B.”
He pulled the top sheet of paper away, revealing the one below it, which she recognized as a printout of her excerpted dissertation. “After I found out your last name, and hunted for you, I found this article.” He tapped the last paragraph on the page. “As you can see, no ‘contact the author’ section. No URL, no email address, no P.O. Box. Nothing.”
Swallowing, she admitted, “I try to maintain my privacy online.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure that’s smart, keeping the cyber-stalkers away. Unfortunately, it kept me away, too, and I’m no stalker.”
She managed a faint smile. “You never did throw those nails down in the parking lot.”
“Nor did I look at your car registration—and see your address—when I was working on your car. Believe me, I’ve kicked myself for that a dozen times.”
He revealed the next sheet in the pile. At first glance, it looked like the printout of an email. It was dated a week ago. “As you can see, I even wrote to the editor of the journal and asked for contact information on the inimitable Marissa Marshall, PhD.”
The email confirmed it.
“Not once,” he added, pulling the first printout away to reveal another one…and then another. “Several times. But I got absolutely nowhere.”
Mari, whose heart had been thudding wildly from the moment she’d realized the implication of him losing his phone, could only stare, reading the words repeated in his three emails. They confirmed what he’d said—he had definitely been trying to find her. Trying hard to find her.
It was true. Danny Wilkes hadn’t intentionally blown her off at all. He’d been the victim of a slippery electronic device and Marissa’s own need to carefully maintain her privacy.
“You really tried,” she whispered.
“Hell, yes,” he said, tossing the pages onto the cluttered coffee table. “Even after I’d decided to let fate handle bringing you back into my life, the way fate brought you there the first time, I still gave it my all.”
Fate bringing them together. What a romantic concept, not something she’d expect to hear from a military man. Then again, Danny was like no man, military or otherwise, that she’d ever met. He was funny and good-natured, kind, smart, self-deprecating.
Mr. Perfect.
But not, she had to remind herself, Mr. Perfect-For-Her.
How could he be when he was heading down a lifelong road she’d sworn to stay away from? Their paths had crossed that one magical, wonderful night…but that was all they could have. Any more might be delicious and wonderful and incredibly pleasureful. But in the end, it would go nowhere. They’d walk in circles, coming back to the center: he was a navy man all the way, and she wanted nothing to do with that lifestyle ever again.
No, Danny was nothing like her father, she knew that already. Nor was she weak and easily swayed like her mother. But that wasn’t the only issue. Even without her parents’ lousy example, she knew what that life was like, and she didn’t want it. She had no interest in moving all around the globe, at the whim of the military. She wanted to always feel she had a firm foundation beneath her feet, not like her world could be toppled on end with one painful phone call or telegram, or even a simple station-change order. She’d never want any child of hers to have to go to bed at night wondering if Daddy was ever coming home; nor did she want them to have to go to five different schools in a six-year period.
Sleeping with him is not the same as having kids with him.
No, of course it wasn’t. But she was pushing thirty and she’d already decided to change her life, to move into a solely mature, adult phase of it. So there could be no backsliding by hooking up with a man with whom she had absolutely no future.
And they had none. She mentally repeated that. She and Danny had absolutely no future.
So as wonderful as it was to know their shared night had meant something to him, it didn’t make her throw her arms around his neck and beg him to take her to dinner. Or to bed.
“I appreciate your showing me all this,” she murmured, meaning it. “Truly. And I’m sorry I believed the worst and didn’t give you a chance to explain yesterday.” She heard the hint of remorse in her own voice, and hoped he did, too. Because it was entirely genuine.
“You’re forgiven,” he told her, that handsome grin widening his mouth, making those amber eyes crinkle in the good humor she’d come to associate with him. “So, what do you say, can we start over?”
She swallowed hard, stared into his face, tempted. So damned tempted. Then, somehow, she drew the words she needed to say out of a deep well of strength she hadn’t even known she possessed.
“No, Danny. I’m sorry, but we can’t.”
He looked stunned.
“It’s probably best for you to leave now.”
Tuesday 5/24/11, 10:50 p.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/24/Nomore
To quote that kid on South Park, “I lea
rned something today.”
Something big.
I learned that I shouldn’t make assumptions about why things happen without knowing all the facts. And that I should trust my gut when I truly think somebody’s a good person, rather than letting my own self-doubts and suspicions make me vulnerable to all kinds of mental nay-saying.
I guess my own background makes me a little less trusting than most people—a shrink would probably say I have abandonment issues. Haha. (Inside joke.)
Whatever the case, I’m here to say I was wrong. Majorly wrong. I feel like shit about it, and I’ve apologized.
But to be honest, I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m not going to say anything more here. I’m done spilling my emotions in public. It’s not healthy and it’s not right. Suffice it to say, I made a big mistake about you-know-who.
He is Mr. Perfect.
Just not my Mr. Perfect.
I can’t have him, and I know it. I’m trying to be all mature and smart about this, but I can’t deny it hurts like hell.
Whoops. There I go, spilling my emotions again.
Zip it, Mari!
Okay, moving on. Day 2 of the job. And the job has gotten a whole lot tougher since I accepted it.
I only hope I can make it through.
8
DANNY WAS HAVING A HARD time figuring it out.
Last night, Mari had heard him out, accepted his explanation, and his apology, looking both sheepish and very happy that he’d come to explain the situation to her.
Then she’d promptly shown him to the door.
She hadn’t been playing hard to get—he’d have sworn that when she asked him to leave, her eyes were bright with moisture, like she was holding back tears. But she’d been firm about it, refusing his offer to go out for a cup of coffee so they could talk a little more, try to figure things out.
In the end, of course, he’d acceded to her request and left. It had been all he could do to walk out, offering her a nod as she gently closed the door in his face. Because what he’d really wanted to do was take her hands in his, sit her down and make her tell him what was really bothering her.